Acceptance

Disclaimer: see first chapter

I cannot thank enough my beta, Dacian Goddess, for her very valuable help.

Everything happened as foreseen: Hermione came back from her first trial as a legal assistant stiffer than a hanged man's rope and couldn't resist the temptation of a full body massage, which contributed to making her amenable to my advances. Knowing that I'm going to impregnate her tonight influences me in spite of myself: I move gently inside of her, attentive to her responses; my hands are affectionate; my mouth annexes hers and doesn't leave it until it becomes necessary to verbally (or relatively verbally) express our mutual and simultaneous pleasure. Luckily, she's so tired that she falls asleep right after our copulation. She doesn't even take the time to cast a questioning look at me about my unusual behaviour. It's better that way, for it would have led me to wonder about things which are better left off to rest in the limbos of my conscience.

According to Mr Acidoton, the trial went well. He congratulated me the next day (the assistants don't go to court with the lawyers) for the excellent file I had prepared for him. He said it had been easy to find the information he needed. For once, Severus's affectionate mood came at the right time, for I really needed relaxing that Monday evening.

We're now Wednesday evening, and I'm about to open the door of the hall where one of the most important events in the history of S.P.E.W. will take place. Harry and Ginny are on the platform at the end of the hall; Dobby and Winky are with me to greet the participants; the tables and chairs are ready, as are the flyers. I turn the handle, push the door open and look at... nothing. There isn't anybody at the door! I am stunned, astounded. I would have thought that there'd be at least one participant. I pull myself together when I see two figures coming toward me, but I'm quickly disappointed: they're journalists. I feel liking closing the door in their faces. Suddenly, I can feel something brushing against the hem of my robe. I cast my eyes down: about ten house-elves are sliding into the hall by getting around my body as I'm standing in the doorway. I am so relieved. I now know that everything will be all right.

Of course, I should have guessed that the journalists would be more interested in hero Harry Potter's life than in the house-elves' rights, who are magical beings with equal dignity to wizards, and who were enslaved by wizarding society. However, their status as slaves didn't prevent those house-elves attending the meeting from joining the Society, especially after they heard that a witch would step down and let them be in charge. Even the journalists forgot to ask Harry and Ginny about the colour of their engagement cake when they heard me declare that Dobby and Winky would lead the movement. I even made the front page, though it was only a small insert in the left corner at the bottom.

I've been paying close attention to Hermione lately. I haven't noticed the usual signs that her period has started: no depression or exaggerated aggressiveness during two to three days, and no used pads in the bathroom rubbish bin. On the other hand, her breasts have swelled, she looks tired and, above all, she hardly eats at breakfast. She also seems to be nervous whenever I am in her vicinity. She looks at me more than usual while chewing her lower lip: a sure sign that she has something to tell me, but doesn't know how to go about it without provoking an explosion. I long to end this torture and to provoke a conversation between us, but she's too crafty; she could guess what my game was. I resign myself to waiting for her to announce her pregnancy to me. It happens, at last, one Sunday morning in August, at the breakfast table.

"Severus."

"Yes."

I have the feeling that, at last, she's going to speak to me. As it is, she can't keep hiding her condition from me for a very long time.

"I, ah, have something to tell you. But first, promise me not to shout or get angry."

I use my actor's skills and adopt an expression both intrigued and irritated.

"Go on, speak!"

"I... I didn't do it on purpose, I promise. I don't know how it's happened. Well, yes, I know how, but yet, I took every precaution, and I suppose you did too, and it shouldn't have happened. Ah, how to say..."

"Precisely. Say what you want to say and cease beating around the bush."

She blushes, embarrassed, and casts her eyes down.

"I'm pregnant," she mumbles behind the screen of her hair.

It's time to put my acting skills to use; I'm sure I would win one of those Oscars, were I a Muggle. I yell with fake anger, "What? You're what?"

It's good to see her start out of fright like when she was a Hogwarts first-year.

"I'm pregnant," she repeats in a small voice.

I narrow my eyes.

"How long?" I ask coldly.

"Around two months. But I still have one month to get an abortion," she adds hurriedly. "I only wanted to speak to you before I did it. I don't think you want children, but I thought it was only fair that I told you about it."

Cold sweat runs down my back. I wonder what has prevented her from aborting secretly.

"You do know that, by telling me about your pregnancy, you are preventing yourself from gaining a divorce? Even if you abort, you could not plead sterility anymore."

She bites her lip with renewed vigour. Suddenly, she seems to come to a resolution and looks at me defiantly.

"As it is, before granting a divorce for sterility, the law requires that the spouses take fertility tests. The Healers would have noticed that I'd been pregnant once, which proves the couple's fertility."

That's why she speaks to me about it! Because whatever happens, divorce for sterility is a moot option for her. Somehow, it makes having a child useless. I don't know why, but I don't like that idea. I've been imagining her with a rounded belly for two months, and here she is, considering abortion.

"What do you think of this child? Do you want it?"

She turns her head and looks out of the window.

"I don't know. At the beginning, I was sure not to want it. I went to St Mungo's to ask for an abortion appointment. There, I met with a Healer and a Psychohealer. They explained to me that I would never be able to divorce for sterility. Then, they brought to my attention to the irrevocability of such a decision. But I have my career. I've just found a job. How will I cope with a child? But what if I abort and regret it afterward? I think I've seen enough death. Can I kill a not-yet-completely-human being and not dream about it in the years to come? And what about you? What do you think?"

Tears escape her eyes, and she sniffles while talking to me...probably the effect of her unbalanced hormones. I have no answer for her questions, except for the one about my will to keep that child.

"You are aware that there are people whose profession consists in taking care of children? And that we have the means to employ such a person?"

There's a double advantage to this proposition: I'll see Hermione with a rounded belly, and I won't have to be involved in the daily care of the child. Besides, when given the choice, Hermione always makes the right one, provided she is presented with the right arguments. I am right once more.

"I can envisage keeping it, but on one condition: you'll get involved, if only a little, in its education. Might I remind you that you've been a very enthusiastic participant in its conception?"

Ah...I was nearly right.

"Honestly, can you imagine me changing nappies?"

She fixes me with her red and swollen eyes, her face sporting an indignant and belligerent expression.

"It isn't worse than manipulating dragon shit to 'improve' Fred and George's Dungbombs!"

She isn't wrong. Quick! I need a good repartee.

"I refuse to change nappies, to bottle-feed or to sing ridiculous lullabies for a child!"

"If you don't take care of your child, I'll lodge a complaint for negligence against you at the Aurors' Office."

Oh-oh. If she does that, she could get a divorce to protect the child. It's time for a concession. I support my comments with my forefinger pointing at her.

"All right. I accept to take care of him...or her...but only to teach him...or her...useful things like reading or writing or Potions, or to check if he or she has learned his or her lessons. But I won't partake in the physical side of care, and don't put it into your mind that I am suddenly going to transform into a cuddler. Recruiting a nanny will also befall to you."

She smiles at me.

"I'm not asking for more, Severus. There's nothing worse for a child than feeling ignored or hated by his parents. Look where that kind of situation had led Voldemort. So, I'm going to keep it. I'm very lucky to have understanding superiors at Nimbus, and the kind of work that I do won't make it necessary for me to stop working for a long time. Besides, with the help of a nanny, I'll be able to cope."

I can't see anything wrong with what the Dark Lord had made of his life, but I keep that thought to myself.

"Well. Now that we've reached an agreement, there's no need to talk about it anymore. I'm going to my laboratory now. I'll see you later."

At last, the day will be normal, without any distraction other than my Potions.